


Pushed Up Against Tomorrow

by gayspaceelf



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Biotechnology, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Slow Build, Trans Male Character, mlm author
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 16:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10598211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayspaceelf/pseuds/gayspaceelf
Summary: Doctor Bruce Banner is the head of research at Aygeo Genetics and he hates it. Just not quite as much as he hates his life outside his job.With the intrusion of Stark Industries into the biotechnology industry, Aygeo's management tell him to do two things. The first is to do whatever it takes find them an edge over Stark Industries. The second is to work closely and in cooperation with Thor Odinson, junior marketing director.-Fic rating probably will change, but any explicit content will be limited to a skippable chapter/s. Both Thor and Bruce are trans because I do what I want and canon can kiss my ass.Inspired almost entirely by the 'he's a friend from work' line from the Ragnarok trailer





	1. Chapter 1

The labs are empty and quiet at 7am, but they’re not quite as quiet as Bruce’s empty apartment. 

If anybody asked, Bruce would say the quiet was why he was here. That when the rest of the workers arrive, it’ll turn into a mess of too much movement, too much sound, too much of everyone and everything demanding his attention. That at least here and now he can hear himself think. That’s a lie though, and a bad one. At least at work, he’s at least somewhat sure somebody else is in the building. And- more importantly- he feels useful. 

Nat tells him he should see a therapist. Nat is right of course. She always is. Nat can glance somebody up and down twice, and then tell them things about themselves they didn’t even know. Nat is always right. And Bruce continues to ignore her advice, and turns up at the lab at 7am. 

His desk is isolated, a little way away from the rest of the desks. It’s mostly empty, the only decoration being a Newton’s Cradle that was foisted upon him when he was last promoted, and a pot of pencils in the far corner. 

As usual, Bruce uses the quiet time to drink a cup of coffee and check his emails. 

His inbox is mostly non-noteworthy. A few mailing lists here, a reminder email about conference tickets, a few scattered social invites he chooses to ignore. And one internal email, with the subject line _Urgent: Meeting_. He opens it and scans it. The email is short and curt, and makes Bruce freeze in terror. 

Management wants to see him. 

It’s mid morning by the time they actually call on Bruce. Bruce’s earbuds are in as he chews the end of his pencil and taps the tip against his keyboard, and despite not playing anything they drown out enough noise for him not to notice the footsteps behind him. He doesn’t hear the words spoken after they stop either, and it takes a firm but mercifully brief tap on the shoulder to get his attention. He drops the pencil to the desk with a clunk, pulling the buds from his ears as he spins on his chair. 

The woman’s pantsuit is immaculately tailored, and her gaze is cold and intent and distant, only dropping from making direct eye contact with Bruce to glance down at his unironed button up. Her nose wrinkles, and Bruce noticed the ID pass hanging on a lanyard around her neck. He only manages to steal a quick glance at it - _her name is Maria_ \- before she speaks. 

“Dr Banner?” she says, and her voice is clear and sharp in the empty room. 

He nods, his lips forming the word yes, even though the sound doesn’t come out. 

“Ms. Mazzotta would like to see you now.” 

The walk to Ms. Mazzotta’s office makes Bruce remember how vast and empty and soulless the main building really is. Glass windows from floor to ceiling flood the corridors with light, but where it should feel warming the light feels clinical and cold against his skin. It’s weird that the natural light feels more alien to him than the actual clinical lights of the labs, but it’s something Bruce doesn’t care to examine. He likes the labs, messy and enclosed as they are, and much as he complains of invasions of his personal space, at least that means he has personal space. Out here in the main offices, he feels like an intruder. 

Maria shepherds him towards the glass meeting room the everyone at Aygeo Genetics has taken to calling The Fishtank. Bruce hates meetings in the Fishtank- it’s too open and exposed and he feels like his every move is being analysed. 

The desk in the Fishtank is glass, of course, and Bruce briefly wonders how much the company spends on keeping it scratch free. Maria pulls open the door for him, and he winces at the squeak it makes on its hinges, but gives her a nod of thanks. 

Bruce recognises a few of the people around the table, and he can guess the rest. He’s the last one there, and his the strategy director- Ms. Mazzotta- is sitting at the far end of the table. She turns her attention to him, but doesn’t close the notebook on the table in front of her. 

“Doctor Banner”, she says. 

He nods. 

“Sit.” 

Bruce swallows, and sits. The chair is hard against his back, and sitting amongst the perfectly twinned sets of perfectly tailored suits on either side of him makes him all too aware of his own clothes. He wishes more than ever that he’d been given some forewarning, that he at least knew what this meeting was about, that he’d had the forethought to lay out a tie the night before. 

A person he assumes is an intern places a paper cup of coffee in front of him on the desk, and Bruce cups his hands around it. He can’t help shake the feeling that everyone around him knows why they are here, and it makes the fact he doesn't concern him all the more. 

Ms. Mazzotta speaks, after what seems like an eternity, and despite seeming to speak to them all, she holds Bruce’s gaze the entire time. He tries to suppress the urge to shudder. 

“If you’re wondering why I have asked you here today, it is because there have been some recent developments that concern me- concern us- about the future of Aygeo Genetics.” 

She mercifully moves her gaze to the man to Bruce’s left. “Mr Kaczmarczyk, if you could.” 

Kaczmarczyk coughs nervously, and stands, flicking his fingertips on the edges of a paper cup. “We’ve recently heard news that Stark Industries has interest in expanding into industrial genetics. Their focus on bioinformatics, and the fact their other projects means they could undercut us mean they pose a threat to our operations.” He pauses for breath, and takes a sip of water from the cup. “I have a presentation of the projected impact their expansion could have on us.” 

Ms. Mazzotta is still a woman of the twentieth century, and is convinced that powerpoint is rotting the brains of executives everywhere, so the presentation is handed to Bruce in the form of a stapled stack of sheets. She peers across the desk at them, over the the glasses that have slid down to the end of her nose. 

The data is not pretty. 

Everyone else around the table seems to think so too, because the room seems suddenly filled with dread. If Bruce didn’t know better, he’d have sworn the glass table seemed to shake a little under them. 

_“So”_ , Ms. Mazzotta says, lips toying with the words like she doesn’t know what to make of them. “There’s our problem. How do we fix it?”


	2. Chapter 2

Half an hour after the meeting ends, Bruce finds himself standing in front of the lab staff, ready to make an announcement. 

He swallows, and wishes he’d got a drink when passing the water cooler on the way back. He’s never been good at any form of public speaking that isn’t a lecture in front of bored undergraduates, and he isn’t about to start now. 

Most of the staff members haven’t taken off their lab coats, and the space in front of where Bruce stands is a sea of white, broken up only by a mixture of curious and concerned faces. All staring at him. 

“I want to apologise for this. I know many of you have families and friends you’d prefer to interact with than stay at work.”

Polite laughter ripples across the crowd.

“On the positive side, you will receive overtime pay.”

“Remember the quicker we find something, the quicker we can return to normal hours, so keep at it until we find some way to work more efficiently, or we find something entirely new to work on. Thank you for your time.”

Bruce’s voice is faint and breathy by the end of his words, and he’s grateful that most of the team don’t care enough to stick around, the sea of white parting as soon as he finishes speaking. He hears a cough, and turns sharply on his heels to face a man he doesn’t recognise stands by the door back into the corridor. He isn’t wearing a suit, and that’s why Bruce takes a second to recognise why he’s there, by which point the man has said it himself.

“Hello”, the tall man says, with a beaming smile, extending a hand towards him. “I’m the marketing director they send to work with you. Thor Odinson.”

Thor’s blond hair is pulled into a rough bun- almost as rough as the knot of his tie- and it seems golden against the burgundy of his jumper.

“Right”, Bruce manages, reaching out his own hand awkwardly. “Banner. Dr. Bruce Banner.”

“I enjoyed the talk. The promise of things returning to normal seems to work as motivation.”

“It wasn’t planned”, Bruce admits. “I’m just really bad at speeches.”

Thor laughs, and its a hearty, warm, genuinely laugh that makes the corners of Bruce’s lips curl up into a smile instinctively. 

“So”, he asks, “Is there anything particular you want to get out of this morning?”

“Seeing the labs would be useful”, Thor lifts his eyebrows. “Marketing seems distant from the practical work a lot of the time."

“Right”, Bruce says, “I’ll give you the tour.”

Showing Thor around the labs reminds Bruce of tours he gave to prospective students as an undergrad. The wide eyed excitement in him is the same as there he remembers in those teenagers witnessing their first glimpses of independence, and Bruce isn’t sure what to make of it. It’s not what he expected from Thor. It’s not what he expected from anyone from marketing at all. 

Normally people sent from management feign interest with half smiles and nods when Bruce speaks, but Thor responds back. Asks questions about the equipment, about their methods, about the reason behind either or both, about problems and their solutions. It’s almost exhausting, like taking care of a very energetic puppy, but it’s enjoyable all the same.

Bruce is half way through explaining what the CRISPR-Cas9 system is when Thor asks him a pointed question. 

“So what’s your take on this Stark Industries situation?”

Thor’s mouth is curved into a smile, and it reaches his eyes- wide and inquisitive- enough that Bruce actually believes he’s interested. This is new, in a word. Unexpected.

“I think the company strategy makes sense”, he starts, cautiously. “Either we need to push something new, or we need to get better at what we do already. Either would work, as long as we come up with something that’s enough to give us an advantage.”

Thor shakes his head, and his hair is gold in the light shining through the glass skylight. 

“I’ve been to the strategy meetings too. What I meant was how will it affect you personally?”

Bruce bites his bottom lip and answers honestly. “Not much.”

“Hours will increase. You’ll need to do more overtime. We all will.”

The words tumble out of Bruce’s mouth before he can think to stop them.“I do as much overtime as HR will let me as it is.” 

There’s a flash of something Bruce can’t identify in Thor’s eyes for just a millisecond, an eyebrow raised for just enough of an instant for him to see, but not enough that he could swear by it. The silence between them is awkward and heavy, like fog so thick Bruce swears he could cut it with a knife. 

Bruce’s tongue darts forward to lick his lip, and it’s only then he realises how dry his mouth and throat are. He’s about to speak again, say some string of words that haven’t made it through his brain and won’t until afterwards, when the two of them are interrupted. 

“Mr. Odinson”, the interloper says, fingers twitching nervously at the knot of his tie. There’s papers piled under his arm, and each movement of his hand makes Bruce more and more certain he’ll drop them. “Ms. Mazzotta wanted to speak with you before she went to lunch. Sorry if I’m interrupting anything.”

Thor turns to him and smiles again- wide and beaming- and at this point Bruce is certain he’s just very good at lying with his body language, because nobody is actually this happy to be told their boss wants to see them. 

“See you at some point later then, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce smiles politely as he leaves, then returns to his desk. His email inbox is fuller than it was in the morning, half filled with panicking staff members, half filled with reminders of events. Two emails catch his eye- one about free pizza left on a desk, the other about a biotech industry conference next month in New York. He marks the second as important and goes in search of the pizza mentioned in the former.

The sky is dark by the time Bruce leaves the building, and darker still by the time he makes it home. The drive home is quieter than he wants, the electric engine of his car barely making a sound as he leaves Cambridge. 

Rhiannon is playing on his phone on repeat, and it’s quiet through the speakers in his dashboard, but he can just about make out the lyrics, and he knows the words well enough that he doesn’t really need to hear them any more. 

_“Would you stay if she promised to you heaven?”_ Stevie Nicks croons for the thirteenth time as Bruce turns the final corner back to his apartment. The road is well lit but the white LED lights of the lampposts are cold and sterile, and Bruce feels a shiver run down his spine as he leaves his car and walks up towards his door, keys shaking as he toys with them between his fingers. The apartment lights are off when he enters. Bruce doesn’t bother turning them on, and when he opens the fridge it fills his kitchen with a sickly yellow glow. He glances over the contents, and between a jar of jalapeños, a very sad looking half onion, and a tupperware box of leftover pasta sauce, there’s nothing.

He has some instant noodles in the cupboard he thinks, but he hasn’t been a college student for years and he can’t justify it. At least he thinks he can’t. 

Bruce glances up at the clock next to the oven. He doesn’t know why he keeps it- there’s little use for an analogue clock when he can just use his phone, the ticking sound for hour upon hour ends up crawling under his skin, and he can barely read the face in the dark. With some effort, he manages to make out that it’s rapidly approaching midnight, and he has about five and a half hours hours before he needs to wake for work.

He sighs, closes the fridge, and reaches for the packet of noodles at the back of the cupboard. 

_It’s been a very long day._


End file.
